A Room of My Own

For so long, I craved a home, a “room of one’s own”, in the words of Virginia Woolf. It seemed like the more I wanted it, the more elusive it became.

Growing up as an older daughter, it was natural that I shared a room with my younger sister to accompany her through the scary night.

When I finally left home to pursue my dreams, my dad’s allowance only covered a shared room with friends, on a second floor in an overcrowded house in the suburbs. A shared room with a shared bed, a shared closet, a shared fridge. An overcrowded house that required turns to cook, to bathe, to do laundry. An overcrowded home where friendship was valued above all, but where I understood the importance of silence, of a moment to gather one’s thoughts, to decompress after a bad day. Those things had never been needed so badly until then.

I kept growing up, starting the climb up the corporate ladder, hearing of glass ceilings I wondered if I could shatter. Suddenly, I was 22, and Taylor Swift’s song captured exactly how I felt: freshly out of college and of my home country, with a bright future ahead. Naturally, I dreamed of having a glamorous apartment that reflected my new and improved life. But the pay wasn’t great, so I resorted to living with roommates in a far less sophisticated setting. In apartment 204 I learned that my bright future wasn’t so, that my good wasn’t good enough, that company can be solitude, that maybe I had been spoiled my entire life. I lived seasons of not wanting to go back home solely to avoid conflict. Then, I changed roommates and changed experiences, certainly improving, but still feeling the need to have a space that was uniquely mine. My own castle where I was queen and subject, and where my personality could shine at the turn of every corner.

Years passed, a pandemic hit, and after years of being in a relationship, I wondered if it was time to take it to the next level. My partner and I moved to a shiny apartment that promised to be everything I wanted out of life. But two years went by and only one piece of art hung in our many walls, solely because we couldn’t agree on that, or on anything. I looked around, and while beautiful and modern, the place felt like I didn’t live there, as if, ironically, there was no room for me. Perhaps we both couldn’t let go of our past identities to blend into one. Maybe I wasn’t ready to commit to shades of grey when all I wanted out of life was pastel hues.

When I decided to leave, I spent months without a home, moving from one friend’s house to another. It was the toughest period of my life, and I had never longed more for a place to lay down the weight I carried. I learned to make a room in my own heart, maybe as it always should have been. Nonetheless, I never stop wishing for a nest, big or small, it didn\’t matter anymore; I wanted some place I could claim as mine, the Republic of me.

After what felt like a whirlwind, I finally received the keys to my very own apartment. After 30 years, five big moves, and a dozen smaller ones, I finally sat on the floor of my empty studio on August 11th 2023, appreciating it like a big white canvas I now got to paint with splatters and flowers and glitter and everything I fancied. I played Karol G’s song “Mientras me Curo del Cora” (While my Heart Heals), and made a list of essentials to set this new season of my life in motion.

Almost two years later, every morning, as I wake up and look around my beautiful little home, my heart rejoices as if seeing it for the first time. The process of making it distinctly mine, with all the pink accents, tokens of appreciation from friends and family, souvenirs of trips, pictures of my favorite moments, has been more magical and more rewarding than my wildest fantasies. This is the place where I can be me, where I can embrace my soul, let people in and also retire from the world. Where I can set and break my own rules. Where I can\’t get enough of the smell of coffee and vanilla. Where I can have lazy mornings with my love or use those early hours to journal as I like. If I was asked about my favorite place in the world, without hesitation, I’d say: these four walls.

I love this apartment because of what it took, and because of what it means. It is a reflection of everything I am and everything that I hold dear. More than a need fulfilled it is a dream come true.